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“I just happened to walk by the den this morning—you remember, when he took that phone call from Jim what’s-his-name, his partner.”
“Van Stern.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, Denver was convincing this Van Stern character that he needed more time here; maybe another couple of weeks.” Milly dried her hands on the edge of her apron and grinned. “The way he was talking, barking orders, trying to convince his partner that he didn’t need to return to L.A. until certain things were just right, made me think he wanted to hang around here.”
Tessa couldn’t dare believe, not for a second, that Denver actually wanted to stay in Montana. All his life he’d never been interested in the land or the livestock. He’d been restless at the ranch. He was just waiting until she could break away and pay off her debt. Damn him! Damn her stupid pride for taking that bet! “He probably just wants the extra time to tie things up and get rid of the place.”
“His lawyer could do that,” Milly pointed out. “No, if you ask me, that man has another reason for staying here.” Her kind eyes met Tessa’s and she winked.
“His decision has nothing to do with me.”
“Oh no?” Milly’s lower lip protruded thoughtfully. “Maybe not. But you’ll never know until you take down your armor, now will you?”
“Meaning?”
“If the two of you could ever quit fighting long enough to talk sensibly, you might surprise yourselves.”
“I don’t think so. Denver made it very clear how he feels about me the first night he was back.” But she couldn’t forget yesterday at the lake. He’d seemed so sincere. So honest.
Milly’s lips pursed pensively. “Well, maybe he was lying to save his pride. Did you ever think of that?”
Remembering how callously he’d told her he’d never loved her on the first night he returned to Montana, Tessa shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“We’ll see,” Milly said. “We’ve got a couple more weeks of Mr. McLean. A lot can happen.” She hung her apron on a hook near the door and reached for her old, plaid jacket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Milly left with the few remaining ranch hands, Tessa decided to check on the horses and try to get her mind off Denver. She couldn’t for a minute think Denver still cared for her. Though she wanted to believe that Milly was right, that Denver still felt something for her, she knew those hopes were only foolish fantasies. And even if Denver had loved her before the fire, too much had happened since for that love to rekindle. Never once had he suggested he loved her. Wanted her, yes, but love? Never. Even the other night, when his tongue had been loosened with liquor, he’d never mentioned love.
“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered to herself, shoving open the door of the barn and snapping on the lights. Though the only sounds she heard were the snorting of horses and rustling of hooves, she sensed someone else was inside. “Who’s in here?” she called through the musty, dark interior.
“I am,” her father’s voice boomed.
“Dad?” Turning, she found him sitting on a bale of hay, a half-empty bottle dangling from his hands. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were still in the house.”
“I was. But I thought I’d better wait for you.”
“Give me that,” she said, afraid Denver might show up. She reached for the bottle, but her father yanked it away, twisted on the cap and stuck the flask behind the very bale on which he was seated.
“Don’t trust him,” he said flatly.
“Who? Denver?”
“Right.”
“Hey! Whoa!” She pointed an accusing finger at her father. “Aren’t you talking out of both sides of your mouth?”
“What do ya mean?”
“Was I mistaken, or were you the guy hanging on his every word at the dinner table? Weren’t you chatting with him about the merits of an Angus over a Hereford?”
“He’s the boss, damn it.”
“I know, but the last I heard you weren’t even planning to show up for work. You thought he’d fire you.”
“He didn’t,” Curtis grumbled. “After that one lecture, he never brought up the fire again. I figured the least I could do was help out.”
“So now you’re telling me not to trust him? I don’t get it, Dad.” She leaned one hip against the manger, felt a soft nose nuzzle the side of her jeans and absently patted Brigadier’s muzzle. “What’s it going to be? Is Denver friend or foe?”
“That’s a tough one,” Curtis admitted, rubbing a trembling hand over his stubbled jaw. “Just remember that he’s different from you and me. He’s only here to sell this place. He doesn’t give one good goddamn about it, and when it goes, we go.”
